They know that at the morning sun the ship will spread its wing
And like a spirit hurry them from every cherished thing,
And therefore gaze they earnestly upon their native shore,
To write upon their memory scenes they will see no more.
They gaze upon the royal palm, around whose coronet,
Mingling with the moon-beams, the sunlight lingers yet,[[1]]
On the live-oak, with gnarled limbs all hidden by the moss,
Whose tresses in the summer wind like pennons twine and toss.
They gaze upon the silver strand of Holy Spirit’s Bay,[[2]]
They see the dolphins flinging up showers of starry spray,